In honor of my father’s birthday, a plug for his memoir in Adland…

My 50 years in Advertising, Larry Postaer

I first wrote this post when dad’s book came out a few years ago. Happy to publish it again – the least I can do for a man who’s inspired me so much…

In my father’s memoir on his career in advertising, Pickett, Plunkett & Puckett he mentions a test he had to take in order to qualify for a job as copywriter on the Sears’s catalog. In the early sixties Sear’s Roebuck (and its iconic catalog) was literally the textbook for retailing in the United States. Called the “Wish book,” anything and everything could be found in the Sear’s catalog (even houses!) and it was a staple in every home, kind of the Amazon of its day.

Yet, the job was hardly glamorous and wasn’t supposed to be. Sears Roebuck was about as old school as it got: dress codes, pneumatic tubes, and a cafeteria.

All his pages detailing the inner workings of Sear’s marketing department are fascinating but, for me, it was the test he took to get hired that stands out. Anachronistic now, back in the day, psychological profiling was used at companies all over America to determine whether an applicant was the “right fit” for the job and company. Back then folks entered into a career hoping –nay expecting- to work at a given firm the rest of their lives. The companies’ wanted that too and so standardized tests, however futile, were developed to insure its likelihood.

The “Wish Book.” You know you want it!

My father singles out one question from the test: Would you rather write the play, star in the play, or sell tickets to the play? My father rightly guesses they are not looking for big creative egos at Sears and answers “sell the tickets.” However, like any writer, what he really would like to do is write the play. These days, I’m guessing that’s what every aspiring writer would like to do. Honestly, the way things are now, I’m betting quite a few young creatives would just assume star in at as well.

It’s easy making fun of this archaic test, so corny and out of touch. But the question is pretty damn interesting when you think about it, as I have. From day one copywriters have wrestled with their urges to be creative versus their mandate to sell. Even now the challenge is still a major aspect of the job. Whether one works at a conservative shop or some rogue boutique, all on staff struggle with it. The lame rejoinder “Well, you gotta do both” is generally where everyone nets out. Sears had no such dilemma, which makes my father’s anecdote provocative nostalgia.

My father writes he faired poorly on the test but got the job anyway. As I said, the stories around this are fascinating and, like many others in the book, well worth reading. It’s available in paperback or on kindle, via Amazon.

The Sears Catalog stopped printing in 1993. Today, the company struggles to remain relevant.

To land his first copywriting job, my father was asked a question that still resonates today.

My 50 years in Advertising, Larry Postaer

In my father’s recently released memoir on his career in advertising, Pickett, Plunkett & Puckett he mentions a test he had to take in order to qualify for a job as copywriter on the Sears’s catalog. In the early sixties Sear’s Roebuck (and its iconic catalog) was literally the textbook for retailing in the United States. Called the “Wish book,” anything and everything could be found in the Sear’s catalog (even houses!) and it was a staple in every home, kind of the Amazon of its day.

Yet, the job was hardly glamorous and wasn’t supposed to be. Sears Roebuck was about as old school as it got: dress codes, pneumatic tubes, and a cafeteria.

All his pages detailing the inner workings of Sear’s marketing department are fascinating but, for me, it was the test he took that stands out. Anachronistic now, back in the day, psychological profiling was used at companies all over America to determine whether an applicant was the “right fit” for the job and company. Back then folks entered into a career hoping –nay expecting- to work at a given firm the rest of their lives. The companies’ wanted that too and so standardized tests, however futile, were developed to insure its likelihood.

The “Wish Book.” You know you want it!

My father singles out one question from the test: Would you rather write the play, star in the play, or sell tickets to the play? My father rightly guesses they are not looking for big creative egos at Sears and answers “sell the tickets.” However, like any writer, what he really would like to do is write the play. These days, I’m guessing that’s what every aspiring writer would like to do. Honestly, the way things are now, I’m betting quite a few young creatives would just assume star in at as well.

It’s easy making fun of this archaic test, so corny and out of touch. But the question is pretty damn interesting when you think about it, as I have. From day one copywriters have wrestled with their urges to be creative versus their mandate to sell. Even now the challenge is still a major aspect of the job. Whether one works at a conservative shop or some rogue boutique, all on staff struggle with it. The lame rejoinder “well, you gotta do both” is generally where everyone nets out. Sears had no such dilemma, which makes my father’s anecdote provocative nostalgia.

In the end my father writes he faired poorly on the test but somehow got the job anyway. As I said, the stories around this are fascinating and, like many others in the book, well worth reading. It’s available in paperback or on kindle, via Amazon.

The Sears Catalog stopped printing in 1993. Regardless, the company struggles to remain relevant.

Family business: A rare visit from my father (Larry Postaer) coincides with even rarer story about his agency (RPA).

Fierce independents…

Dad just visited with my family in Chicago. A short trip, he was in route to Detroit for a business meeting. In addition to seeing his three granddaughters, we took him to Millennium Park –a Chicago sight he had not yet seen. His visit was short but everyone had a good time.

Because his longtime and current place of residence is Los Angeles, many people mistakenly believe my father is from California. In fact, he hails from the south side of Chicago. He grew up in Our Town, beginning his copywriting career working on the Sears catalogue and later for the now-defunct advertising agency, Stern Walters & Simmons. In the seventies, he took a job at Needham Harper & Steers, which, as many of you know, became DDB Needham and now DDB. In the early eighties he moved west becoming Needham LA’s lead creative. When they merged with Doyle Dane Bernbach a conflict arose between two major car accounts, Honda and Volkswagen. Reluctant to give up Honda, dad and his partner (Gerry) acquired the LA office renaming it Rubin Postaer & Associates. That was almost thirty years ago.

Much to my delight –and I’m sure his- dad has not retired from the agency he co-founded, now known as RPA. Up until recently, my father served as the agency’s Chief Creative Officer. He still serves in an emeritus fashion.

While at my home I mentioned a story I’d just seen on Agency Spy regarding the promotion of folks from RPA’s creative department. My dad’s reaction: “What’s Agency Spy?”

I love my dad.

His lack of knowledge about that website and others like it is less from ignorance than calculated indifference. Here is the story: Many years ago Larry was called by an advertising journalist from the Wall Street Journal. He was asked about a Buick commercial that seemingly aped one of his agency’s better Honda spots. Dad made a joke about it: “Imitation is the sincerest form of flatulence.” A dust-up ensued in the press, which culminated in my father being chastised by Honda. The Japanese aren’t much for braggadocio.

Since then, my father has demurred from the trade press –both for himself and his agency. So much so, he even took his name out of the agency’s name! Instead of chasing publicity like so many of us (any ink is good ink, right?), dad reminds me of another old saying: the tall nail gets pounded first.

Right sized…

Nothing makes the old man happier than Honda’s continuous leadership status in the automotive world, yet RPA takes no credit. Nor do they seek it. He and his agency are rightfully appreciative of their long-term relationship, almost singular in its rarity, and will not compromise it for anything, especially the transient accolades of our business. Which is a big reason why, despite being perhaps the largest privately held advertising agency left in America, one seldom hears about RPA, good or bad. Think about agencies like Crispin Porter & Bogusky or BBDO and people like Martin Sorrel and Howard Draft. What a difference, right?

Not lost on me is the fact that I am anything but a wallflower when it comes to this business or my own business. And Lord knows the flames that attracted me have burned me. Recently, I wrote about this topic. Whether I ever learn my lesson or not, let me state, unequivocally, that such vainglory does not come from my father!